The Sin Collector

MASHA

“I’m positive we’re right!” Masha said adamantly, while Innokenty slid his empty coffee cup from side to side on the table. “Before we talked it out today, I still had some doubt. But not anymore. There’s a pattern here. Coincidences like these don’t happen, you know?”

“Masha, it may be that the theory is too intricate, and the coincidences… they’re just coincidences as long as we have no concrete facts. Your denim detective is right. We’ve built an intriguing theory, but as long as we have no motive, it’s just fantasy. Like he said, why those people, exactly?”

“And the numbers.” Masha sighed. “We haven’t figured out those damn numbers yet. But still, it’s obvious that we have a particular type of killer here: the maniacal missionary. I do think motive is clear, in general terms, at least. He kills in places symbolically connected to Heavenly Jerusalem in order to show us that we’re all sinners, don’t you think?”

“Tell me more about this maniacal-missionary type,” Innokenty said.

“Why?”

“It’s not for me, Masha. I’m interested, sure, but laying it out will help you. Try to be precise. You don’t need to give examples. Try to build a system, and then compare your victims to every point in that framework, okay?”

Masha grinned. “Usually things work in the opposite direction: you lecture me, like you do about your precious Old Believers. But okay. Let’s just order some more coffee first.”

Innokenty waved the waiter over. While he took their order, Masha seemed to be studying the tablecloth, but as soon as he walked away, she raised her eyes and launched right into it.

“A maniacal missionary doesn’t hear voices, either of gods or demons, and he doesn’t see visions that urge him to violence. A missionary is on the hunt to destroy a particular group of people, to clean the planet of filth. There’s any number of groups he could see as filthy: prostitutes, gays, blacks, whatever. He’s a collector of sins.”

“I’m more used to antique collectors than sin collectors. But there is what experts call a consistent motive, isn’t there?” asked Innokenty.

Masha nodded. “Right. Consistency of motive is one of the main things all serial killers have in common. But only the missionary considers his work to be a sacred obligation. If you look at the four main reasons pushing someone to commit multiple murders—manipulation, domination, control, and sexual aggression—the missionary has none of the sexual compulsion, but the other three might be variously involved depending on the killer’s personality. From what we know so far, judging from the current theories about missionaries, and from the fact that the bodies were moved to different places, I think that control is the strongest motive here. It also seems to me that, despite his fastidious methods of execution, our killer, like most missionaries, does what profilers call ‘lightning murders.’”

“Explain,” said Innokenty.

The waiter appeared with two strong cups of coffee. Masha slowly added two cubes of sugar to hers, and stirred.

“Well, lightning murders are committed by serial killers who don’t get pleasure out of the act itself. Quartering a body isn’t literally quick, of course, but for him, that was probably just a way to kill a sinner, not a way to enjoy himself. On the other hand, there are also ‘leisurely murders,’ where the whole thing happens slowly, because the killer enjoys his victims’ suffering. The hedonists fit into that category, for example. Some of them thrive, somehow, on killing, and others get sexually aroused by it. Do we really have to talk about this?”

“No.” Innokenty hadn’t touched his coffee. “But it sounds like, out of all the types of serial killers, ours isn’t the most terrible, right? He doesn’t taunt or rape his victims; he almost seems to kill against his own will, simply because he thinks it needs to be done. Something like a conscientious soldier.”

Masha winced sadly. “Lots of maniacal missionaries actually are soldiers. It has something to do with the habit of flawlessly carrying out orders, or being trained for a strict life in the barracks and then rejecting the mess of the ordinary world. Plus, I think that, for many soldiers, the value of human life is sort of negotiable. After all, they’re basically told to sacrifice some people to clean the world up for the rest.”

“Granted. Here’s what is bothering me, though: you, and all the rest of the detectives who have investigated his crimes, have nothing solid on this monster. If he hasn’t left a single clue, he must be more than just smart. He must have some special insight into the kind of work you do. What do you think? What about a—What did your supervisor call it, a signature, a modus operandi?”

Masha smiled, not too happily. “You must be spending too much time with me, Kenty! You’re really taking to this stuff.” She spread her fingers on the table as she talked. “We really don’t know enough yet. How does the killer catch his victims, for instance? Does he ambush them? Does he lure them in somehow? Then, does he move things around at the scene, or take some sort of memento when he’s done? And another thing. A modus operandi can be verbal, like some special text he makes the victim repeat. That wouldn’t leave any trace for detectives to find. Right now, all we know is that he uses medieval methods to kill, all different ones. We need to figure out how he chooses his victims, what they have in common.”

Innokenty was listening attentively.

Masha continued, “For example, if we look just at Russian serial killers, there’s Slivko. He killed seven boys under sixteen years old. He was a Hero of Communist Labor and the director of a youth club. His victims were all members of the club—that’s what they had in common. Chikatilo found his victims at bus stops and train stations. Pichushkin hunted in the park. They all chose children, the elderly, or women, often prostitutes, because they’re easy targets. But imagine targeting the wife of a governor, one of the richest women in the world! Or a famous architect! Or sneaking up on a professional hitman! Kenty, our missionary is very smart, and—you’re right—he knows how criminal investigations work. But he also must plan out every step of every crime in minute detail. It’s terrifying, actually, and I feel like I don’t understand anything at all.”

Innokenty squeezed Masha’s hand. “You do. I believe in you. Let’s take things one at a time. From what I can tell, the only signature we have, so far, is the medieval-style executions. Maybe if we could break those down somehow, we would understand more?”

“How much do you know about executions?” Masha finally took a sip of her coffee, and scowled. It had gone completely cold.

Innokenty shrugged. “It’s not a topic that ever really interested me. But if our missionary is so obsessed with Orthodox Christianity, maybe his murders have analogies in Russian history? And that’s a subject I know something about.”

I’m so lucky to have Kenty, Masha thought suddenly. She squeezed his hand encouragingly. Innokenty smiled.

“There was a document in the Middle Ages that regulated the Russian state’s dealings with criminals. It was called the Council Law Code of 1649. Have you heard of it?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter. Go on.”

“This document appeared during the era Gluzman told us about. The Code described in great detail who was supposed to be punished, for what crimes, and in what fashion. The punishments were meant to be analogies for the torments of hell—and that, I think, may be important for understanding this killer of ours. It’s why executions were often performed in public. It wasn’t just to entertain or terrorize the people. The more important goal was to make sure everyone understood what might be waiting for them in hell. The symbolism was vital. By disfiguring a person—ripping out his nostrils or eyes, or slicing off his lips—the state also made sure he could never blend in with the masses. So a thief, for instance, could never pass for an honest citizen again.

“In the Middle Ages, different people who committed the same crimes were supposed to be punished differently. For example, for delaying a transaction, a clerk might be beaten with batogs, which were like sticks. But the clerk’s boss would be beaten with a scourge, which could kill him. Basically, if I’m remembering correctly, sixty different crimes were punishable by death, including smoking tobacco.”

“Wow,” said Masha, sighing. “At least now it’s only five.”

“Which ones?”

“Well,” said Masha, ticking them off on her fingers. “Murder. Threatening the life of a government figure. Threatening the life of someone working on a court case or a preliminary investigation. Threatening the life of a law-enforcement agent. And genocide.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I can’t list all sixty crimes for you, but I do know that the execution methods were classified as either ‘simple’—just chopping off someone’s head or hanging him—or ‘technical’—things like drawing and quartering, burning, dripping molten metal into someone’s throat…”

A young couple sat down at the next table.

“Maybe we should talk about this stuff somewhere else,” Innokenty suggested.

“It would take forever to go somewhere else. Traffic is terrible out there,” Masha whispered. “Just finish up what you were saying. The short version.” And she leaned closer.

“Hanging,” Innokenty whispered in her ear almost intimately, “was the cheapest and most insulting method. They never executed respectable people that way, not here, and not in Europe. It was bad manners. If you wanted to take the life of a high-class individual, they seemed to think, it was worth at least spending the money to sharpen the axe and pay a real professional to do the job.”